Demonstrations of Love
by HRFan
Summary: Set a few weeks after the end of season 9…Two parts. This one rated k. The next one, to be written, will be rated M.  Thanks for the comments, as ever….I don't know when I will get tired of writing RH fics…right now, though, I am enjoying too much to stop
1. Chapter 1

6

**Demonstrations of Love**

**Set a few weeks after the end of season 9…Two parts. This one rated k. The next one, to be written, will be rated M.**

**Thanks for the comments, as ever….I don't know when I will get tired of writing RH fics…right now, though, I am enjoying too much to consider stopping, as long as you guys are still happy with the stuff. Oh, and I know I have to finish A Letter, but somehow I have gone stale with it….**

**HRFan.**

**1.**

He gets up early that day, as usual, his body clock still set on the brutal schedule of his work days. He can't remember when was the last time he was at home at 10am in the morning on a day other than a Sunday. He knows it must have happened, at least once, since his suspension six years ago, but he simply has no recollection. The house feels too big, too empty, too devoid of character somehow, despite Scarlett's joy at having him around all day long.

He knows he should make the most of those days, and sleep, reads, listen to music, but his gnawing fear at the outcome of the inquiry into his whole career eats up at him. He knows where the skeletons are, and the leverage that this gives him, but he is lucid enough to realise that if they really want to get rid of him, they will. The fact that Alec, of all people, has been put in charge, does not quite reassure him. On the contrary. Too unpredictable, with a massive chip on his shoulders and an equally massive grudge against the Service…It's been two weeks since the Home Secretary asked to see him in private, after his initial warning phone call. Every single word of that conversation is etched, burningly, into his memory. _What on earth made you do it, Harry….it's treason for God's sake. _He had looked at Towers consideringly, weighing each word before replying. _I draw the line at sacrificing the life of one of my officers_, he'd said calmly. _Come, come Harry…I've made inquiries. Not __**any**__officer, surely. This one, in particular, as we both know…well, I hope the sex's worth it at least…_And to that he had said nothing, not trusting himself to speak without hurtling abuse. Towers had cleared his throat then. _Anyway_, he'd said, looking away. _I've had a word with the PM, the DG, and the head of Internal Affairs. Suspension with full pay for the duration of the inquiry. You're not to get in touhc with any one from your team. From the whole service in fact. At best, you will be decommissioned with your pension intact – in the light of the best parts of your record. At worst…._

He'd nodded at that, and uttered the right words in response to Towers' more or less empty words of reassurance, and left, the taste of ungratefulness bitter in his mouth.

And now that he has nothing to do during the day except walk his dog, read the papers, and try and get his daughter to make time for him, he takes the full measure of how empty, dry, dessiccated his life had become. But what hurts, most of all, is the fact that Ruth has not been in touch. Not a phone call, not a word, not an email, not a text message….nothing. True, her usual comms are very probably monitored but still, he can't believe she couldn't find a way to encrypt them – she who finds breaking into foreign intelligence servers so easy. As he makes himself some coffee that morning, it occurs to him that he was chasing a dream. And that even though he would have traded his career, his freedom even, for her life irrespective of her feelings for him, part of him always was hoping, if not for her love, at least for her continuing friendship. _Work, the Grid…that's all there was between us. Always. Nothing more…_he tells himself bitterly.

The doorbell rings. He can make out the postman through the glass panel. 'Your copy of the _Times_, sir.'

He frowns. 'My copy of…' But some instinct, some sixth sense tells him that he must act naturally, as if he was expecting this, if not for the benefit of the postman at least for the benefit of the tails which IA has diligently assigned to follow him and watch his house 24/7.

He shuts the door behind him, hands shaking. He knows he never ordered the _Times_. He checks his bank account online, and notices a recently set up direct debit, monthly, to the _Times_. He opens the classified ads. It takes him a couple of minutes to see it. _Supporter of Atlanticism seeks advocate of the Grand Tour for spirited exchanges of views to be held when we may observe the day to begin. Discretion essential._

He drops the newspaper on the kitchen table, mouth dry. It's her. It's got to be. But where, how, when are they supposed to meet…and above all, how is he supposed to lose his tail when all CCTV cameras within 2 miles radius of his house are fed directly into IA's computers…._When we may observe the day to begin…_He racks his brain. What does she mean by that?

And suddenly, he knows. _Oh Ruth my love…you genius…_And he's got a few hours to figure out how to get there undetected.

**2.**

He gets ther shortly before midnight, having changed clothes five times, used underground, bus, and boat to get there. _Thank God for Adam….I'd never had managed to do this if I hadn't observed him do this so many times…_

He takes position a few metres away from the spot he thinks she meant, hidden in the shadows. He doesn't have to wait long. She is ascending the slope to the Observatory, from the other side. It's full moon and the night is clear. He knows it's her. Softly, slowly, he starts whistle Beethoven's Ode to Joy. She changes course and walks straight up to him.

'Harry', she whispers.

'Hello, Ruth.'

'You made it' she adds unnecessarily, not really trying to hide how nervous she is.

'When we may observe the day to begin…', he quotes. 'Midnight following reception of the Time, Greenwich Observatory, on the meridian line. I worked it out eventually.'

'I thought you would', she chuckles weakly. They fall silent, watching each other's faces hungrily, looking for signs of fatigue and tension, their concern for each other obvious in their eyes.

'I'm sorry I haven't been in touch before', she says finally. 'It's been…hellish.'

'It's alright, Ruth. You don't need to explain.'

'Why didn't you tell me that Albany was a fake?'

He shrugs. 'I didn't have time…anyway, why does it matter?'

'Would you have done it, Harry? If it had been real?'

He sighs. 'I don't know, Ruth…and it's unfair of you to ask me', he points out mildly.

She rubs her eyes tiredly. 'You're right. I'm sorry. It's been a long day. Do you mind if we sit down on that bench? I take it you managed to lose your tail…'

He leads her to the bench. 'Yes. Not without difficulty…meeting here was a brilliant idea though. That way I could take the Westminster boat and escape from the CCTV for a while…You?'

'Same.'

He doesn't quite understand what's going on. She is reserved, obviously finds it difficult to meet his eyes, and is back to her fidgeting ways. 'Ruth….why did you want to meet me tonight?' he asks bluntly.

She turns to him at last and he can see that her eyes are glistening. 'I wanted to thank you', she says. 'But also to tell you that…'

'You don't need to thank me. I didn't have to think about what to do. You're alive. And that's enough for me. No matters what happens now.'

'I wouldn't worry too much there', she says neutrally.

'How can I not worry? They are planning to go through everything. Everything Ruth. My training at Sandhurst, my Northern Ireland Tours, my time in Berlin….my stint in Paris…one way or another I have been involved in some of the dirtiest secrets our successive governments have concocted. So how can I not be worried…'

She looks at him squarely this time. 'Depends on what they find', she says patiently.

'But I'm telling you, they…' He stops, with a very uneasy feeling. 'Ruth…What have you done?'

'I think it's best if you don't know', she says calmly.

He grits his teeth torn between exasperation, fear for her, admiration and love. 'Ruth, I….please. Whatever you've done….if they find out, you'll be decommissioned, liable to criminal charges, possibly a prison sentence….at least tell me what you did. Please.'

She looks at him for a long time. 'OK. Let's say that…I had a trawl through Registry. Whatever _might _have been there which they could have used against you is not there anymore.'

His jaw drops. 'But that stuff is so classified that…how on earth did you even manage to even get it off the shelves? I mean, we're talking some of the dirtiest, nastiest…There's no way you would have got clearance for it. Especially given that Towers knows about….well, about us. So…'

She places her hand on his arm, as much to calm him down as to steady herself. And although the night is mild, it is getting cold and she needs his warmth and the feel of him underneath her fingers. 'You have more friends at MI5 than you realised, Harry. So do I, as a matter of fact. As for accessing the stuff…' She remembers going down the tunnels with a flask of coffee, having deactivated the central heating system via the server..persuading the archivist that she needed to look at files on totally connected operations…she remembers pouring the cold, shivering archivist a welcome mug of coffee laced with a strong dissolved sleeping pill. She remembers moving down the shelves quickly, knowing that she had three hours at the most to go through dozens of pages of classified documents spanning the whole of Harry's career, and decide which ones to hide underneath her woollen top…she remembers pretending to wake the archivist up after finishing up…'You don't need to know. All you need to know, really, is that the worst stuff has…gone. I burned it at home and buried the ashes with my garden compost.'

His throat tightens. 'Thank you', he whispers. 'Thank you so much. I don't know what to say or do or…'

She smiles sadly. 'You don't need to say or do anything. I couldn't bear the thought that they'd hound you out. After all you've done…Besides, I did it mostly because I …'

But he doesn't let her finish. 'But you'd already sacrificed so much for me. Five years ago….'

She lets her hand drop off his arm. 'Is that what _you _were doing? Paying off a debt?', she asks, with a slight tremor in her voice.

He looks at her sharply, her face barely visible now that the moon has disappeared behind some clouds. 'You know very well what I was doing, Ruth', he says in a low, strained voice. 'It had very little, if anything at all, with repaying my debt to you, and everything to do with…' He stops, unwilling to once again make himself vulnerable to her.

'With love', she says softly. 'Yes. I know. Well. Welcome to the club.'

He goes very still. Then on an impulse he brushes her cheek with his fingers. 'What kind of world do we live in….I love you. You love me. And the only way we can express our love for each other is by sacrificing everything for each other. Christ.' He shakes his head, frustrated, bitterly amused almost by their ridiculous situation.

'It doesn't have to be only that way', she says softly – so softly that he almost didn't catch it. He swallows. 'Ruth…I…for all that you've done, I have no idea what will happen to me. I might still be going to prison. And even if I don't, I might have to leave the service. And if _that _happens….I don't know what will become of me, what I will do, how I will…'

She reaches up to him, and silences him with a kiss – light, feathertouched at first, then deeper as he responds to her fully, warmly. At last they pull apart, breathless. She frames his face in her hands. 'I love you, Harry. At the end of the day….it's so simple. I'm yours. I always have been. If you'll still have me.'

'If I'll still…my God. You have no idea how much I long for you, do you…' He draws her to him again and resumes his long, patient exploration of her mouth, her skin, her scent, drunk of the moan which escapes from her. 'If I have to leave the Service…it might have to be the little house in Sussex', he whispers. 'Can you cope with that?'

'If you have to leave, there won't be a public inquiry anyway because they're too scared of what you know. And as I said…you have more friends than you think. So I'm sure that you'll get offers from corporations, international organisations, Interpol…I'm not worried. And I'll get a job easily too.' He marvels at how calm, confident she sounds – so different from the young woman who barged into the meeting room all those years ago. 'And even if it were the house in Sussex…' She runs her hands on his lapels. 'You almost got killed, Harry', she says brokenly. 'And in that moment….I'd have settled for a bedsit above a dry cleaning shop in Barking so long as we'd be together. I still would. So the little house in Sussex would do us fine.'

He lets out at last the sob which has been stubbornly lodged in his throat. 'I love you', he says, 'I love you…So much.' He takes a deep breath. 'We should know within two weeks or so the outcome of the inquiry. I think it's best if we are not in touch at all til then. But the day they let me know…you'll be the first to know. And that evening…that night…'

She smiles at him, a bit shyly but her eyes blindingly bright with the promise of things to come.'That's a promise', she says.

They rise from the bench and slowly climb down the hill towards Greenwich town centre. 'What will you tell them when they have a go at you for evading them?', she asks curiously.

He shrugs. 'I'm not on house arrest and technically they are not supposed to follow me. So….I'll make something up. It's better if we make our way to town separately though.'

A few mns before they get to the taxi rank outside the mainline station, he stops walking and takes her in his arms. 'Wait for me, my love', he whispers. 'Two weeks. And after that..'

He seals his intent with one last kiss, and soon she's gone, swallowed by the night.

**3. Three weeks later**

'Ruth? It's me. The line is secure. I'm in the clear. Yes. Well. Let's say that they found it convenient to buy the story I told them – 'in the interest of security giving Albany to the Chinese saved the life of the service's top analyst – don't be silly, of course you are – but more importantly taught said Chinese a valuable lesson, ie don't mess with us.' It's all bollocks, I know it, they know it, but with no evidence to destroy my reputation and my thorough knowledge of our national skeletons' resting places…Are you crying? Oh, sweetheart….no, not for another week….can you take time off? I know it's short notice but…you're kidding me. You'd already planned it? What, because you know we'd find out today? Fair enough. No, I'm not making fun of you, I'm just…chuckling. That's all. Well, you're going to have to get used to that sound, aren't you…Now listen. I'm going to send you a text with an address. It's a….well. It's a hotel. With a restaurant. Would that be alright? I think you'd like it. 8pm tonight OK? Good. Very good I'll…..I'll be looking forward to it. Very much so. And Ruth? I love you. Bye.'

**4. **


	2. Chapter 2

5

**Love 2**

**Second chapter of Demonstrations of Love. Please note that this one is rated M so don't read if that is not your thing. Definitely adult content.**

'What's wrong?', he whispers to her.

She is lying in his arms, responsive to his touch, and yet so tense that he can almost feel her back muscles. She looks at him, eyes clouded with worry. 'Nothing….it's nothing. It's just that…it feels…'

He moves away from her without breaking touch. 'We don't have to do this tonight, Ruth…if you'd rather wait….if you need time…' He doesn't dare ask the question which has been tormenting him for months now, whether she wants him, _really _wants him, that way.

'It's not that I don't want you', she blurts out, as if guessing his thoughts. 'It's just that…' She looks away from him. 'I'm not very good at this. I never have been really. And I'm worried that…'

He's so relieved he can feel his entire body relax. 'That what, Ruth?'

She shrugs. 'Oh, you know….that you'll be…disappointed.' She forces herself to meet his gaze. 'Look, it's alright, I'll be alright. Come on, we've waited for such a long…' She begins to drag him back to her, but he pulls back.

'No', he shakes his head. 'Not that way. Not when you're so…scared.' He kisses her gently. 'It's my fault', he says ruefully. 'We've barely touched each other in eight years and all of a sudden…' He strokes her cheek gently. 'Can you tell me what…why…?'

'Why it's hard? Well…' She doesn't know where to start. How can she explain the unsatisfactory fumblings of her student days, her excruciating shyness, the way she would immerse herself in her books convinced that she couldn't possibly be found desirable, her stepbrother's unwelcome advances, the long, draining days at GCHQs interspersed with awkard dates… How can she possibly say that her deep, abiding fear, always was to lower her intellectual guard and show who she really was – passionate, demanding, giving – and to invite surprise and ridicule? And George. How can she possibly tell Harry that even with him, so removed from her other life, patient, understanding, and thoughtful, she could not somehow ever allow herself to let go? She sighs. 'This kind of intimacy…you need to relinquish control, fully. To have enough trust in yourself and the other person to tell them what you want, what you need, without being afraid.' She pauses, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. 'I have never been very good at doing that', she whispers, embarrassed and ashamed.

'Oh Ruth…' He kisses her forehead briefly. He knows that blandly reassuring words are the last thing she needs. He also knows that the moment, right now, in this bed, is broken. Yet he he is not sure how to help her through this. And as he is lying so close to her, he also notices how tired she looks: the last few weeks have taken their toll and above all she needs rest, and relaxation. He lets his eyes wander round the room. 'I've got an idea. Would you like to have a bath with me? It can be just that. A bath. We're both tired and I think it'd do us good if…Yes? Good. Stay here.'

He goes straight into the bathroom, gets the bath started, adds some oil to it, quickly undresses and puts on one of the thick dressing gowns. Soon the bathroom is filled with the fragrant scent of hot and bubbly water. He goes back to her. She is lying on the bed, her face somewhat sad, and wistful. He sits next to her. 'It's ready. Why don't you go in and call me when you're ready?'

She presses herself against him briefly and disappears into the bathroom. For all his effort he can't help his body react to the thought of her naked, a few feet away from him…

'Harry…you can come in now.'

He clenches his teeth against his body's instinctive reaction, as he walks in. She is sitting in the bath, her chin on her knees, having left him plenty of space to sit behind her, taking great care not to look at her, not even through the mirror which lines up the wall. He rids himself of his gown quickly and carefully lowers himself behind her. Her upper back, smooth, slightly pink from the steam, is all he can see, and he itches to run his hands on it. 'Are you OK?', he whispers.

She nods. 'Could you wash my back, please?', she asks almost inaudibly.

Without a word he picks up a soft cloth and slowly, tenderly, does her bidding, washing her hair too while he is at it. She raises her head backward towards him, eyes closed, the better to let the warm water run down off her, almost groaning from the sheer pleasure of his fingers massaging her scalp. And when he is done, without even thinking she leans back and lies down against him. He breathes in sharply as her breasts, half hidden by the water, partly emerge, and she realises then how much he wants her. She goes very still, and gently wraps his arms around her. 'I love you', she whispers. 'I love you so much…'

'And I you…', he responds in a strangled voice.

Just as he had washed her back a few moments before, she runs her hands up and down his thighs and legs. He arches slightly against her, and starts stroking her belly under the water, moving his hands up, and up, and up, til he reaches her breasts. He cups them gently, and lets his fingers run around them, avoiding their increasingly distended peaks for as long as he can. Her breathing quickens, and he knows, instinctively, that this is what she needs. At last he circles her nipples gently, using the friction of the water to arouse her, until she can't help whimpering. He raises his head. Most of the bubbles have gone, and in the mirror facing them, he can see her body fully at last, through the water. She is straining against him, obliviously arousing him, but he is determined not to let the demands of his body dictate the pace. She is gripping the edge of the bath with her hands, her breathing more and more ragged. 'Show me', he whispers, his voice roughened by love and desire. 'Show me what you want. How you…'

She stiffens. 'But I can't….it's …embarr…are you…'

He rests his cheek against hers. 'I love you, Ruth. And I want to please you. And believe me, there is nothing you could say or do which would shock me. Or repulse me.' He lets the words sink in, and after a few moments, repeats lovingly, 'show me.'

Excruciatingly slowly, she lets her hands wander down her body, groaning as his own resume their patient, relentless danse on her breasts. He looks at her in the mirror, flushed, warm, her eyes so dark as to be almost black, as she parts her legs. He clenches his teeth against the mounting flow of his desire. She picks up her own pace and he follows suit, kneading her peaks, rolling them between his fingers, watching the folds of her feminity contract and distend themselves, drunk on the sound of her whimpering, til she half shouts her release and collapses against him.

After an eternity, she kisses his hands. 'Thank you', she whispers.

'My pleasure', he half laughs, the strain in his voice obvious to his own ears.

She half turns towards him. 'But you…you haven't…'

He kisses her softly. 'I can wait…the water is getting cold. Do you want to get out?'

She nods. They quickly dry themselves. She can't miss the obvious signs of his need and half raises her hand towards him. He grabs it in his own gently. 'It'll wait, Ruth', he repeats firmly. 'Right now…I'd rather hold you in my arms and sleep. If that's alright'

She smiles at him weakly, her body heavy with fatigue and pleasure at the same time. 'Sounds good.'

They nestle under the duvet in each other's arms, and let themselves fall asleep, together.

He wakes up a few hours later, disoriented at first, not understanding where he is, til he feels the weight of her leg across his, the touch of her hand on his naked skin, and the relentless pull of his desire for her. He disentangles himself from her slowly, taking care not to wake her up, puts on his dressing makes his way to the bathroom. He wants her, more than he has ever wanted anyone, ever. But he won't wake her up. He grits his teeth. It's either waiting til the morning or a cold shower or….his hands stray….

She wakes up with a start, perturbed by the sudden void next to her, feverish with longing for him. The light filters from under the bathroom door and yet there's no noise. Frowning, she gets up and wraps herself in her gown. She knocks on the door softly. 'Harry….are you alright?'

After a long silence, he says, 'Yes. I am.' But he does not add anything so she pushes the door open. He is gripping the sides of the basin with both hands, his back rigid with tension. He meets her eyes in the mirror, his own dark with desire. She glances down unvoluntarily. She can feel herself blush and walks to him, wrapping her arms around his torso, her cheek on his back, pressing her body against his. He breathes in deeply. 'I didn't want to wake you up', he says.

She turns him around so that he faces her, and holds his face in her hands. 'Come back to bed', she whispers kissing him on the lips, his soft moan of pleasure vibrating against her.

She leads him back to the bedroom, but as she is about to lie down and draw him to her, he pulls back. 'Ruth…' His voice is almost unrecognisable, his Yorkshire accent stronger than she has ever heard it. He swallows. 'It's been…it's been a very long time…I don't know if I can hold back and…' He pauses, and the panic in his gaze, warring with desire, is unmistakable.

'All I care about', she says softly, 'all I care about is to feel you inside me. Right now, that's all I want.'

She quickly rids herself of her gown and without asking him, undresses him too. He lies down on top of her, nesting between her hips, and in one slow, measured move joins their bodies. As she craddles him in her arms and her feminity, he heaves with a sob, head buried against her neck, hands twisting in her hair, desperately fighting for self-control. She stays very still, letting her own body accommodate him fully, shaken to her core by the sheer force of his virility. After a long time he raises himself on his forearms and looks down at her. 'I love you', he whispers in a trembling voice. 'I. . Never forget that.'

'I won't', she murmurs against his lips.

She is expecting him to start moving within her, but he won't. Instead he remains ensconced within her, looking deep into her eyes, as if to engrave this very moment in his memory. 'I've waited eight years for this, Ruth. Eight years…' His eyes fill with tears. 'You've no idea…what it means to me. It's…' He shakes his head.

'Oh I do. Believe me…' Her smile illuminates the room as she rocks against him gently, delighting in his gasp of surprise, feeling the first tremors of pleasure deep inside her. 'Make me yours, Harry.'

He kisses her hard and fast, and suddenly it's no longer gentle and tender. He thrusts into her, again, and again, and again, oblivious to her fingernails digging into his back, unable to stop and slow down, letting his body take over, his breath ragged, vaguely aware of her whimpers of release, a long drawn-out shout tearing away from him as he buckles against her, spent, exhausted, fulfilled.

He rolls over to his side without letting their bodies separate, and presses her against him, unwilling to let her go. She is shaking, and he realises that she is crying. He lifts her head to his, on the verge of tears. 'I. Love. You', she whispers through her tears with a shaky smile. 'Never forget that.'

'I won't', he says solemnly, his hands shaking. 'I won't ever forget.'

The END.


End file.
